


The New Apartment

by spacebuck



Category: Avengers, Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers
Genre: AU, Angst, Apartment AU, F/M, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nat Backstory, Romance, completely AU Nat Backstory, death mention, drunken escapades, overprotective avengers family, red room mention, torture mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-22 13:05:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2508902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebuck/pseuds/spacebuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers team does not exist. Each of the superheroes is secretly employed by SHIELD, and kept separate from each other in most cases. Then they are moved into the same apartment building. Chaos ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kate Meets Bucky

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on fanfiction.net, but I prefer the formatting of AO3 so I've moved it here. Updates will occur in both locations.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate is visiting her friend and mentor, Clint, in his new apartment for the first time.

She tried the key again. Still no go. Damn that man to hell, he had given her the wrong key. Kate Bishop looked down at the key in her hand, then glanced around the now empty hallway, the landlord having disappeared back into the elevator. She was going to have to do this the hard way. Tucking the key in her pocket, she swung her bag off her shoulder. A quick rummage, and she had her lockpicks out.

After a few moments of quiet muttering, the lock clicked. "Ha! Suck it Barton!". Slipping her not-so-legal equipment back in her bag, she swung it back over her shoulder, and picked up her duffel, opening the door with her other hand.

Dumping her bags on the ground, she looked around the small apartment, grimacing at the grime on the walls. She was going to have to do something about that, her mentor-slash-friend-slash-disaster-she-was-responsible-for would never even notice. Looking through the archway to her left, she saw the coffee pot on the otherwise empty bench and smiled wryly. Coffee first, everything else was secondary in this kitchen it seemed. Typical. She filled it and turned the machine on, before leaving the kitchen to try to find Clint.

Draped over the arm of the ratty couch were two socked feet, toes pointing down, like their owner had just collapsed onto the cushions and passed out. Again, typical Clint, up all night and then crashing anywhere soft. Some things never changed. Amused, Kate walked over and pinched the heel. "You gave me the wrong … key …"

The person lying on the couch (that was actually a half extended futon) was not Clint. That was obvious by the adorable bedhead, the whole shirtless thing that Clint never did around her, the gun pointed at her head, the sleeping on his front with his head facing the door through the back of the couch, the … gun … pointed at … her head.

Kate squeaked, held up her hands.

"Who are you? What are you doing in here?" He sounded angry. Not good. Angry plus gun equals bad for Kate. She gaped, trying to form words but nothing came out. Damn it! He was going to shoot her, and she would just be standing there, gaping like a fish out of water!

"кто ты? что ты здесь делаешь?"  
"Cine ești tu? Ce faci aici?"

Kate finally found her voice. "MynameisKateIthinkI'minthewronghouseI'msorryplease don'tkillme" she yelped.

The man frowned, hesitated, then rolled on to his back, the arm with the gun draping over the edge of the futon and out of sight. He ran his empty hand over his face. And that's when she realised who she was talking to.

"Ohmygodyou'rethewinter-"

"God, lady, stop yelling, please. My name is James. I'm obviously not the person you're looking for. Now can I help you? How did you even get in here?"

Kate gaped, unspoken words hanging in her mouth. "Umm … I'm looking for Clint Barton? Blond guy, deaf, probably covered in plasters or bandages? And I uhh…" She swallowed. "I uhh might have maybe picked the lock sorta."

With a grunt the man, James, sat up, and then rubbed the back of his head with his (now gun free) hand, frowning. "You mean the coffee guy? Up all night then shows up at the crack of dawn looking for coffee?" He didn't say anything about her make-my-own-key approach. She wasn't going to say it again. Unless he asked, can't go ignoring a man with a gun, and a track record like this guy's. God, the list of his confirmed kills was huge. She didn't want to become another name in that particular book.

"Yeah, that sounds like him".

"You're pretty close then, he's the door across from mine."

Kate nodded. "I'll, uh, be going now. I uh started some coffee because I thought … never mind. The coffee machine is on. I'm sorry for accidentally breaking in to your house mister." James pushed himself off the futon and stretched, the joints in his real arm clicking loudly. He didn't seem too angry anymore. Maybe she was forgiven?.

"You didn't damage the lock, did you?"

"Of course not. I'm good." James snorted, and shook his head. He seemed amused. That was good, better than angry and wanting to kill her.

He headed over to the door, and she followed, picking up her bags on the way, deciding not to push him any further. Opening his door, James pointed at the one opposite. "You want that one".

Kate slipped past him, and turned around, sheepishly muttering "I'm sorry again mister. Uhh, have a good day" before slinking across the hall and trying her key in the other door, which opened first try.

She glanced back over her shoulder, to see James closing the door behind her. Well. That could have been worse. She turned back, and opened the door in front of her, nearly walking into the man she was actually here to see. Punching his shoulder, she scowled. "You told me the wrong apartment you ass." Clint just looked confused, and opened his mouth to reply. Changing thoughts, she narrowed her eyes, cutting him off before he was able to say anything. "Did you know your neighbour is the Winter Soldier?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both comments in foreign languages, mean "Who are you? What are you doing in here?" First in Russian, then Romanian.


	2. Clint, Natasha, and a Doormat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha distracts Clint after his mission goes sour.

Two A.M., and she was awake. Why on eart-? Her phone buzzed again, vibrating against the solid wood of her bedside cabinet. Right. That was it. She snuck an arm out of the covers and into the biting cold air of her apartment, and snatched up her phone, pulling her arm back into the warmth as fast as she could. Opening her phone case, she tapped in her lock code, squinting at the sharp light it produced. A text. From… Clint? He must be back then. She opened the message.

 _Hey, Nat. I'm coming over. Pull out the cups._ She frowned, and tapped out a quick reply.

_Wine, beer, or spirits?_

The only reason Clint would text her with that line would be if something had gone wrong with his mission. She hoped it was nothing major. A few minutes later, her phone buzzed in her hands.

_Spirits_

Shit. Wine-level mistakes were easy, just little things that didn't mess up the mission but annoyed the man to no end, but spirits? Spirit-level mistakes were rare, but when they happened … She uncurled herself, stretching out under the sheets before dragging herself out of bed. She went to the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, rinsed out her mouth, and then went to her wardrobe. Five minutes later, she was curled up on her couch, wrapped in as many sweaters as she could fit, watching the flames in her wood burner jump and flicker.

There was a soft tap on her window, and she glanced up. Seeing Clint's shadow, she moved quickly to let him in off the fire escape. He clambered in, covered in bandages and plasters, his short blond hair in a shaggy mess, like normal, but his right arm, tucked against his side, was in a field splint, which was not so normal. Not for a bowman. Hanging off his left shoulder was a small backpack, which he immediately dumped on the floor. She pointed at the fire, noting the goosebumps on his bare arms, shut the window behind him, and picked up the bag. "Go sit down, I'll grab the glasses." He gave a grateful smile and wandered over to her couch, sprawling across it with his head as close to the fire as he could get it without burning himself.

After making sure he was comfortable, she went into her kitchen, and grabbed two short glasses out of her cupboard. She pulled the first bottle out of his bag, vodka. Nat sighed, and shook her head. Clint didn't even like vodka. She set it aside, and pulled out the second bottle. Whiskey? He probably hadn't even looked at what he was buying. This was going to be a long night. Grabbing the bottles around the necks, and the glasses between her fingers, she headed back out to the living room on silent feet.

* * *

 

"Nonononono wait wait so you're saying she broke into whose house?" Nat was only a little lightheaded. Totally. Almost completely sober. She giggled at the face Clint pulled, and took another mouthful of the cheap vodka. Okay, so maybe she was a little lightheaded. But only a little.

"Some big shot secret agent dude, Winter Whatsit?" His words were slightly slurred, and his eyes a little glazed, but lit with amusement, which was better than they had been earlier that evening. He waved his good arm in the air, drink sloshing over the sides of his cup as he did. "Then she blamed it on me! I didn't tell her to break into Scary McHomicide's place, noooo not me." She giggled again, and held up her hands.

"I get to spin this time!" Reaching out with her free hand, she grasped the empty whiskey bottle lying between them and flicked it in a circle. It spun for a minute, and they both watched it in silence. It slowed down, stopped. She grinned as it pointed right back where it had been. At Clint.

"Okay, dare or dare?"

He laughed. "This game is truth or dare, dummy, you can't change the rules."

"But you just had a truth you can't do two in a row come on!" She pouted at him, barely able to contain her laughter. He sighed overdramatically.

"Fine. Go". Nat paused, thought for a moment, and then grinned, proud of herself in the way few sober people manage.

"I double dog dare yooooouuu … to steal Capsicle's doormat." Capsicle, or that-guy-across-the-hall-that-always-looks-so-serious wasn't home, so he wouldn't notice. Initially. But he didn't know anyone else in the building beyond her, and didn't socialise much, so he'd have no reason to pinpoint her. It was the perfect crime.

"What's the other option?"

"Huh?"

"You said dare or dare, so two options. What's the other one?"

Damn that man was onto it, even when drunk. "I dunno, lick a window or something? I didn't plan this far ahead, just go steal the doormat stumpy." Clint laughed. He wasn't usually a happy drunk, but the cheap whiskey that they had already downed, plus the late night, must be doing something for him, because he was having a ball.

"Alright, alright I'm going jeez." He levered himself up, swaying when he got upright, blinking slowly, and then lurched off towards the door. Nat didn't think she should stand, so she kept her dignity intact by crawling across the floor after him, giggling at his failing attempts to open her three locks. When he finally got it open, and swayed his way across the hall, she sat in the doorway, keeping an eye on the elevators, and the doors between her and them.

"Move Nat!" The stage whisper wasn't at all subtle, as the drunken archer came flailing back across the hall, doormat rolled up and tucked under his uninjured arm. She shuffled backwards as he fell into her apartment, laughing his head off. Spinning on her butt, she closed the door behind him and fell against it, snickering.

"I can't believe you actually did it, nerd-lord!"

"A dare's a dare Nat I can't let you win because I have _morals_." She grinned, and shuffled over to where he lay on the floor, still clutching the doormat.

Curling up next to him, she sighed deeply, the adrenaline wearing off to leave pensive thoughts, and tucked her forehead against his side when he moved his arm for her. "You did good, Clint." She wasn't just talking about their little heist, and he knew it. He made a noise of acknowledgement, and fell silent, staring up at the ceiling.

"You're too good to me Nat." She made a noise of disagreement, but didn't say anything else. They lay there in the silence of each other's company, as the light of dawn crept into the apartment.


	3. The Squeaky Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky Barnes just wants some peace and quiet.

It was late evening, and the sun was just setting on a cloudy day. James 'Bucky' Barnes closed his apartment door as quietly as possible, engaging the brand new locks silently, before placing his keys on the hallway table. His apartment had cleaned up nicely, a bit of bleach on the walls, and some new furniture, and he was quite proud of the results, considering it had been a bit of a dump when he had moved in. He moved into his living room, and carefully placed his bag beside the couch, steel clinking against steel softly as it settled. He had taken his harnessing and facial gear off before he had left the SHIELD headquarters so he didn't spook anyone that was wandering around the apartment building, but he needn't have worried. There hadn't been anyone or anything in the corridors to scare. Mind you, it was after dinnertime, most people would actually be in their apartments, not just getting home. He sighed, then ran his hand down the front of his jacket, popping the straps open, then unzipping it. The heavy leather was swiftly removed, creaking quietly, and draped over the back of the futon. Yawning, he wandered into the kitchen in his combat pants and started the coffee machine, then sat down on the futon and pulled his bag towards him.

* * *

 

Two hours and three cups of coffee later, all of his weapons were clean, oiled, and secured in his safe. Bucky hadn't used most of what had been in the bag, but he had cleaned it all anyway, checking everything for damage or wear. Leaving the empty bag where it was, he returned his mug to the kitchen, rinsing it out and setting it aside before stretching slowly, his spine and shoulders popping quietly. God he was shattered. He headed towards his bedroom, picking up his jacket on the way, planning to sleep for a couple of hours before reporting back to Maria.

_"If he's sleeping, he's not working. The Asset doesn't deserve sleep."_  
 _"Minimum downtime: four hours every three days. Better functionality at one to two hours a night."_  
 _"That's too long. Cut it down."_  
 _"I can't, it's req-"_  
 _"Do as you are told!"  
_ _"If he doesn't sleep every three days he will crumble. The wipe might not hold. I cannot, and will not, risk this project because you think he's your pet!'_

He flinched, his hands coming up defensively, protecting himself from long dead men. As soon as he realised what was happening, he rubbed his eyes, slowly relaxing the muscles that had suddenly tensed. Those men were dead and gone, and yet still could play him like a fiddle. Ugh.

Changing into a pair of trackpants and a tank top, he did a quick check on his left arm, ensuring there was no damage. Once he was happy that it was still running smoothly, he fell back onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for sleep to come.

* * *

 

He was almost asleep when he heard it. A squeak, followed by a groan. Restless movement. A faint sigh. Bucky's eyes narrowed in confusion. Where was that…? Oh, right. The guy above. He frowned as there was another squeak, then another sigh. Silence. The groan of bedsprings. The intermittent noises continued for ten minutes before he finally gave up.

Grabbing the first thing he came into contact with, he threw it at the roof. The loud thunk of book hitting ceiling was followed by an even louder one, and a yelp, as whoever was in the room above fell off something. The book fell back to the bed with a soft thump. Silence again. Blessed silence. Bucky frowned. Too much silence. No creak of floorboards, no groan of bedsprings. Nothing. What if the person had hurt themselves? Shit. He got up, didn't even bother with changing, and quickly left his apartment, grabbing his keys on the way out.

* * *

 

Steve groaned, lying on the floor on his face. He didn't want to move. Not ever again. He thought he might have broken his nose. Again. The other guy who lived in the apartment below used to do the same thing, bang on the roof and startle him when he got too restless in his sleep. It wasn't his fault he couldn't stay still. Looks like the new guy was going to do that as well. He didn't move, nearly falling asleep again on the worn carpet, but there was a faint knock at the door. What? Why would someone be knocking on the door at this time of night? What even was the time? With a small groan, he lifted his head, squinting through the darkness at the clock on his bedside table. Eleven. Ugh. The only person who showed up this late was Nick Fury, and he usually came with demands. Steve groaned again, the noise echoing through the near empty room. The knock came again, more urgent, more demanding.

"All right all right, I'm coming, hold your damn horses, jeez" he muttered, more to himself than anything else, but the knocking stopped. With a grunt, he pushed himself onto his back, then clawed his way to his feet, checking his nose as he did. Didn't seem broken, and had stopped bleeding while he had been on the floor, so that was something. Wiping the small bit of blood away, and wiping his hands on his pajama pants before moving to the door. He grumbled to himself as he undid the locks, the words "Fury", "late", and "arse" featuring more than once each.

Wrenching the door open, he opened his mouth to let his boss know exactly what he thought of this visit but stalled before the first word could escape. That was not Fury. He was dishevelled, with tired eyes (both eyes so definitely not Fury) a metal arm, he wasn't in a suit, and a met…al… arm… His eyes snapped back up to the strangers' and he tensed. 

"You-"

"Threw a book at the ceiling just before because your bed was noisy and then it was too quiet so I thought I'd better check to make sure I didn't accidentally kill one of my neighbours but you're fine and your door mat is missing if you hadn't noticed okay bye-" Steve grabbed the man's arm as he turned away, pulling him to a stop. The man yanked, the panels on the arm shifting as he pulled away, but Steve held on tight.

"Why are you here?"

"I just told you, look can I go? I was working late and I-"

"What, working at killing my teammates?"

"What? No! I don't know who you think I work for but that is not what I do!" their voices were quiet but emphatic, both of them aware of the time, and the thin walls of the apartment building. With a final yank, the man wrenched his arm free, and stood just out of reach. "My name is James. I live in the apartment below you. Would the killer you think I am come and check on someone he thinks is in trouble? I'm not the bad guy, Captain. Not anym…" He trailed off, and then shook his head sharply, before looking Steve dead in the eye. "Do what you will, but I'm not leaving my home without a fight."

Turning on his heel, he walked away, not looking back even as Steve called his name, then called it louder, risking waking the kids up in the apartment next door. As the man, James, the Winter Soldier, disappeared down the stairs at the end of the hall, Steve leaned against his doorframe, frowning. It was the Winter Soldier, the big bad assassin for the Russians, then the secret organisation known as Hydra, and now … his neighbour? Could this building hold any more secrets? His gaze shifted as he heard a door crack open, and he saw the door across the hall open, and a familiar face stick out.

"Any trouble Cap?"

"Nothing Nat, go back to bed."


	4. Blackout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The power to the building goes out unexpectedly.

The lights were flickering, like there was a storm out, but it was a calm, clear evening. They flickered again, then the TV had a moment of static before the weatherman continued with his report. Steve frowned, getting up off the couch he had sprawled on to check the wires. Not that he knew what to look for. After making sure everything was plugged in correctly, he put his hands on his hips, and stared at the television. It flickered again. He checked the window again, just to make sure he wasn't imagining the lack of clouds. He wasn't.

He started to sit down when there was a loud pop that echoed through his apartment as everything went black. The lights were out, the TV dead, not even the faint humming of the fridge. There was a roar as the back-up generator woke up, the fridge turning back on, but that was about it. No lights, no TV. _What the..?_

Straightening, he went to the door, grabbing his shield on the way, and opened it to find others standing in the hallway. Meeting Natasha's gaze across the hall, he gave her a questioning look. She shrugged in reply. They turned in unison and started moving along the hallway in opposite directions, knocking on doors, checking on the other residents, making sure they were calm, unharmed, and had blankets, torches and candles. Reaching the end of the hall, he pointed upwards, then gestured at her and pointed down. She nodded again, and headed for the stairwell, as he headed for the emergency exit at his end.

Climbing, he tried to work out what could have caused the outage. A brief look out of a window had confirmed that it was only their building that had gone dark, which was strange in this part of the city. Coming out of the stairwell, he realised that there was only one door on this hall. And there was very loud, very angry noises coming from behind it.

Hiding his curiosity behind his mild concern, he headed for the door, knocked on it. The noises became swearing, and then silence. The door swung open, and a tall man peered out at him. A tall, very famous man. Before Steve could stay anything, the man who had no business living in their apartment stuck out his hand, as though making a peace offering. "Blueberry?"

* * *

 

"So how did you manage to short out the building?"

"Well, the leader of my super-secret-government-"

"We've established we both work for SHIELD, Tony."

"Let me finish? The leader of SHIELD crammed me in to this shitty-ass building and told me I wasn't allowed to go back to my actual home until 'this'" He made air quotes with his fingers, wearing a disgusted expression, before eating another blueberry. "Was over. He wouldn't say what, he wouldn't say why. So I was setting up a dock for the suits I brought with me, and I go to plug it in, and bang. I really didn't expect much more from this hole of a building."

Tony shrugged, as if to say 'not my fault', when the blame indeed did lie squarely on his shoulders. Steve sighed, glancing around the flash penthouse apartment. Well, flash compared to what he and the rest of the tenants had - probably equivalent to living in a dumpster for the billionaire in front of him. Steve shifted on the couch that was probably worth more than all of the contents in his living and bedrooms combined. " Can you fix it?" He turned down the blueberries again, as he pulled his gaze from the network of cables, and the two red and gold armoured suits standing menacingly against the wall.

"Of course I can fix it. I was almost done when you came knocking, popsicle."

Steve suddenly remembered why he had never liked Stark much. The man was a prick. "Well then, I suggest you do so. One of the kids in the apartment next to me is afraid of the dark."

He didn't move, and wasn't planning on moving until the power came back. He had been stubborn before the war, it was what had gotten him involved in the first place. Seventy-odd years on ice hadn't changed him at all.

"Yeah well more importantly, with the power off I can't watch the news tonight. They interviewed yours truly again." The man disappeared from Steve's line of sight, checking his wires and monitors, changing things here, altering setups there, until with a creak and a groan, the generator powered down, and the main lights came flickering back on again.

"Who's the genius?" The rhetorical question came from behind him as Tony walked back to the couch. "The answer, if you didn't guess, was me. Now, you can leave. I won't drain the power again, I won't mess anything up, et cetera, et cetera."

"Sir, I do believe-"

"Shut up Jarvis. Now I don't see you moving iceberg." Steve got up, turning to look at the other man.

"Thank you." Tony shrugged and waved it off, and Steve turned on his heel, picking the shield up from its position against the side of the couch, walking to the door. He opened it, and was halfway out when he hesitated, then turned to glance back in.

"Welcome to the family, Stark."


	5. Honey, I'm Home?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What is the God of Thunder doing on my couch?"

It took him three tries to get the key in the lock, and another two attempts to actually open the door. Clint Barton gave the door a shove as it stuck, and stumbled into his apartment. It was too early to be up, too early to even be conscious. Why did he have to have a teammate who preferred night missions? Why did he have a teammate who liked mornings? Nat's unholy chirpiness had nearly driven him up the non-existent wall on their way to the pickup point, and she hadn't even let him nap on the way home, constantly prompting him about this thing or that. Honestly, he didn't even remember what she had asked, let alone what he had said. He was pretty sure she had been doing it on purpose. They had known each other for years, and every mission they had run together in the past eight months had not only been night missions, but ones that had meant that he hadn't gotten home until the sun was up. Natasha Romanov was the devil in disguise.

Barely able to input his alarm code before it went off, he closed the door behind himself and leaned against it for a moment, trying to work out his next move. Coffee. Good start. He headed towards the kitchen, placing his bow case gently on the side table as he passed it. That was another thing he had to do before bed - clean and check the bow he had used for damage. He groaned, heading straight to the coffee machine once he was in the cramped kitchen and prepping a pot before switching the machine on. He went to the fridge as the machine came to life, opening the door and staring in to the empty void. Well, not actually empty. Empty of anything he could eat here and now. He closed the fridge and went to the cupboards to find the same, and grumbled under his breath, knowing exactly who had either eaten or hidden his chips, nuts, and generally unhealthy food. Kate had been past again.

At least there were no holes in the walls, so she hadn't attached a target to the peeling monstrosity using arrows, like last time. He still hadn't forgiven her for that - it had been the final straw when it came to his landlord, and he had found himself faced with an ultimatum - move out or pay up. Clint had chosen the former, and had been helped along by Fury, who had wanted him in this building for some unknown reason. Then he had found out Nat was living above him, and another SHIELD agent was living opposite her - the oh so famous Captain America. The man didn't exactly seem happy, and after the argument the defrosted man had had with Clint's neighbour, which had been overheard by Nat and passed on to him, it looked like he knew the assassin dude. And didn't like him very much, even going as far as to accuse him of working for the enemy (whoever they were this time - Clint hadn't really been paying attention). Though admittedly, he was pretty sure the Winter Soldier was on Fury's payroll as well.

He shrugged, hearing the click of the coffee machine and realising that he had been standing, staring into the cupboard absently for nearly ten minutes. Shaking his head in an attempt to wake himself up, he grabbed his usual mug out of the sink - at least it was clean, something Kate always did when she was here was the dishes - and pouring himself a cup full of the brew. Drinking it unaltered and boiling hot, he walked around the island to the living room, placing the coffee on the table in front of the couch before retrieving his bow case and sitting down. He ran his hands lightly over the case before opening it, looking down at the bow. He had gone for the slim and powerful recurve that was his favourite, and happened to be the best for stealth missions like that night's one. Checking the bow took half an hour, and counting the arrows and writing down the special ones he had used took another half an hour and another cup of coffee. Once he was happy that his weapon was ready for the next mission, and his arrow shopping list was ready to give to Nat to pass through to Maria, he packed it all away again, rinsed out his cup and left it in the sink, and went to bed.

* * *

A thundering crash woke him up only a few hours later. Crouched at the head of his bed, he woke up fully as silence returned, and he shrugged, not really ready to face whatever the hell that had been. If it were something he needed to deal with, it would wait until he was damned good and ready. Honestly, it had sounded like something falling over coupled with actual thunder, but it was sunshine peeking out from under the curtains. Eh. A job for later then. He went back to sleep.

Five hours after that, Clint woke up properly, and of his own volition. With a yawn and a stretch, he got up, and went out for coffee. Ten minutes later, he was staring to wake up, and remembered the crash from earlier in the day. Sipping at his coffee, he walked out into his lounge, to see a gaping, man-sized hole in his wall, and bright blue sky on the other side. He blinked slowly, and looked around, to see a man, one that he was pretty sure hadn't been there when he had gotten home, lying on the only couch, snoring. He blinked again, looked back at the wall. Back to the snoring man. Back at the wall. "Aww, wall, no". He pouted, and took another sip of his coffee, staring at the hole for another few minutes. Turning to the man on his couch, Clint jabbed him in the ribs with a finger. It had the desired effect. The man jolted awake, rolling off the couch and landing on the floor with a thud. It was then quite clear who the man was.

* * *

 

"What is the God of thunder doing on my couch?" Thor held the mug carefully in his hands, as though he was afraid of breaking it. Though, considering what he had done to the wall, wasn't exactly a stretch.

"That is … hard to explain. But I shall try." The blond behemoth frowned into his cup, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. "I think it may be my brother playing tricks on me. I was flying through the skies of Asgard, with no purpose, and I quite suddenly crashed through a wall. For reasons unknown, I was suddenly tired, so I set down Mjölnir and promptly fell asleep. It only occurred to me that I was not in my bed when I awoke to find myself on the floor". Clint frowned, opened his mouth, and closed it, then tried again.

"So you're saying you have no idea why you're here either? Great, just great."

He went back to the kitchen, and poured himself another cup of coffee, asking over the island whether his guest needed a refill. When the response was in the negative, he went back into the living room, and sat on the couch next to the other man (the freaking God of Thunder?!), after shifting the giant red cape out of the way. Oh, but Kate would be highly unimpressed that she had missed this. She was always complaining that this kind of thing never happened when she was around. She was only partly correct. "Okay, so is your dickbag of a brother going to help me fix my wall, or do I have to sort that out?" He gazed sadly at the sky through the hole, not even wanting to think about how much that was going to cost to fix.

"Worry not, I shall have your wall fixed, Friend of Anger"

"Uhhh, do you mean Fury? And my name is Clint."

"Yes. My mistake."

"Y'know Thor, you've adapted to modern speech quite well. I swear last time you were around everything was 'Doth thou mother knowest' and 'thee, thy, thine' and all sorts of crap, like you were channeling Shakespeare or something."

"Thank you. I feel as though Midgard is my home, almost as much as Asgard is in recent days. The threat from beyond this realm is increasing, and hence I have been spending more time here than expected." The big man frowned, then his face brightened again, and he looked somewhat hopefully at Clint. "One thing I have grown more accustomed to is the food on Midgard. Especially the sweet things. Do you have anything sweet, Clint, man of arrows?" Clint blinked, and gave the God a mildly confused look.

"How do you know…?"

"You have a quiver hanging on that door, and the holes in that wall are distinctly arrow marks." Thor gestured to first the door to the room Kate used when she was here, and then to the wall next to that door.

Clint's frown deepened, and he got up to look at the wall in questioned. "Damnit Kate! She does this just to annoy me I swear. There's a target in that room she can bring out but noooo, she has to use my walls for target practice!" Grumbling, he turned to Thor and shook his head in disappointment, before considering the other point he had bought up. "There's nothing much here other than coffee. Let me put something over the hole, and then we can go out and find something to eat." At the mention of food, his stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten in nearly twenty-four hours. Sighing, he went to the linen cupboard, pulling out a tarp, and making a mental note to text Nat and ask her to keep an eye on his apartment until he got back. "Come give me a hand, thunder man, and we can get out of here faster".


	6. The Clock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That alarm clock has woken Bucky up every day for the past few months, at a ridiculously early hour.

A noise woke him up, right on schedule. Five am. He lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, eye twitching slightly as the noise continued for a few minutes, only easing when the noise cut off. The alarm clock went off at the same time every day, rain or shine, weekday weekend, holiday or not. Five am. Five in the freaking morning. And it wasn't even his alarm clock. The super serum had done a lot of good things, made him stronger, faster, but this hearing thing? He wanted it gone. Wasn't happening though. Now that he was awake, he couldn't get back to sleep. Not that he had had much in the first place, having only fallen into bed a few hours ago after getting back from a mission. With a grunt, Bucky forced himself upright, then stretched, arching his back until the vertebrae clicked back into place. Ugh. Slowly getting to his feet, he shuffled out to his kitchen, switching the coffee machine on, and rummaging through his fridge for the leftovers from lunch the day before. Bacon panini, awesome. Throwing it in the microwave, he fixed his coffee as the machine clicked, then fetched his food from the microwave wolfing it down as he stood in the kitchen. Dumping the plate in the sink to wash later, he took the coffee out to the lounge, sitting on the couch with his feet on the table. The sun wasn't even up yet. Ugh. Someday he was going to work out whose alarm that was, and give them an earful. He hated mornings.

* * *

 

A month later, and he was getting home much later than usual. He was just unlocking his door when he heard the alarm. Dropping his stuff on the inside of the door, he quickly turned, following the sound, up the stairs, determined to find the asshole who had woken him up nearly every day for the past four months. Finally he found the right door, just as the alarm clicked off. He knocked on the door, realising too late he was still basically in his combat gear. Screw it. They deserved to get a fright after this morning ritual of theirs. There was silence behind the door, then faint movement. Bucky knocked again, louder this time. A noise that sounded like a cross between a groan and a yawn, and the sound of feet, too light to be male. Schooling his expression, he was not expecting the sight that greeted him. Natasha Romanov, ex KGB agent, ex-student of his, and current agent of SHIELD, wearing a fluffy dressing gown and look of annoyance that was quickly being replaced by shock. She didn't say anything, just stepped out of the doorway, holding the door open for him to follow her inside. As soon as the door closed, he spoke, not looking at her. "Natasha? What are you doing here? And why is your godforsaken alarm clock so loud?"

* * *

 

"So how many of us are in this building?"

"Um, you, me, Steve across the hall, Clint downstairs, I think Steve mentioned that Tony Stark has been forced into the penthouse? I don't think there are any more affiliated with SHIELD. Yet."

Bucky sipped his coffee, considering the information. "Clint the coffee guy? Didn't know he was SHIELD. The Captain I knew about though. He still thinks I'm Hydra."

Nat frowned. "I hope you set him straight James."

"I tried to but I was also trying to avoid a fight considering it was three in the morning."

"That was you? I heard a commotion but by the time I had a look, it was just Steve standing in the hall looking concerned. I'll talk to him."

"Nat, you don't -" Her expression made him give up. He may have been one of her instructors a long time ago but that didn't mean he had any control of her now. "Fine, just don't get me killed. I like it here, for once." She grinned, and leaned back on her chair, tucking her feet up underneath her.

"Besides that, Natasha," he continued "You never answered my question about the alarm clock. Why do you have it set so early, and why is it so damn loud? Every morning for the past few months it's woken me up, and I don't live directly adjacent to you!" She looked sheepish.

"Well Clint said once that he could sleep through anything, and we've had this running competition to see who can be more annoying off-mission, ever since we found out we lived in the same building. So, I decided to see how far I could push it before someone complained, purely to annoy him. I know it's waking him up too, these walls aren't very thick so I hear him get up, cursing me, every morning, though he hasn't said anything to my face. So I haven't stopped."

Bucky stared at her for a moment, then broke into laughter. That was honestly the most ridiculous answer, and yet so completely Natasha. He couldn't help but think there was something else going on between the two though, which made him curious to properly meet the man. If he was anything like his other friend, Kate, who had introduced herself to Bucky by breaking into his house, Nat was going to have her hands full with him. "Wait… Isn't he supposed to be deaf?"

"He has hearing aids, James. Stark industries was commissioned by SHIELD to create something he could sleep in, though he never used to wear them. Hell, nowadays he's more likely to not be wearing them during the day, than at night."

"Why doesn't he just take it out now that you're doing this alarm thing?"

"I have no idea. Pride? Proving a point? Stubbornness? All are equally possible with that man."

James grinned, knowing her exasperated expression too well, then glanced at his watch. Shit. He had been catching up with Nat for nearly two hours. "Hey, Nat, it was great seeing you, but I really have to go, I still haven't gone over my equipment from yesterday's mission yet, and it's nearly seven in the morning."

"Shit, is it really?" She stood up, checked the wall clock, and sighed. "I have somewhere to be soon, so don't worry about it." She came over as he rose to his feet, and gave him a quick hug. "It was good to see you, James. We should catch up properly, later this week?" He smiled, hugged her back, and nodded.

"Sure, just let me know when. You know which door's mine." After placing his mug in the sink with hers, he said goodbye and left, shaking his head at the stroke of luck. Had she not been in the middle of a juvenile competition with her teammate and neighbour, he probably would never have seen her again. He smiled faintly as he jogged down the stairs, and headed back to his apartment. Good friends were hard to come by, and Nat had been the only person he had trusted towards the end of his stint with the KGB. He was glad she had gotten out, and was still alive. Of course, given her skills, and rank, he wasn't exactly surprised. A Black Widow was hard to find, and even harder to kill.


	7. Leaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why in hell is his ceiling leaking? He's on a middle floor!

The creaking of old pipes announced that the person above him was running a tap. The building was old enough that he wouldn't be surprised if they creaked when the person at the opposite end of the building flushed the toilet. But it was home, so he put up with it.

Bucky stood in the kitchen, surveying the items on the benches, scanning them to make sure everything he needed was there. Everything was there, except … Damnit, where was the oil? He headed back to the cupboards, shoving things out of the way, pulling down large groups of items until he found the bottle right at the back of the pantry. How on earth had it gotten back there? Climbing half on the bench, he managed to grab it after a moment of scrabbling for it, and nearly fell off the bench as he moved backwards. Catching himself, he slid off and continued going through the ingredients. Good, he now had everything.

He looked at the tattered book resting next to the oven. His mother's faded handwriting scrawled across the pages. He was so damned lucky he had found it, found something of his past in the old war bunker outside the house that had been his family's, seventy years before. His last mission had been not too far from Brooklyn, so as soon as he had had a chance, before his flight home, he had gone looking for any remainder of his family. There had been photographs, the book, and not much else, as though those few things had been left behind accidentally when the occupants had last left the shelter. The photos he still hadn't looked at, beyond the first one to confirm they were of his family, but the book, the book he had flicked through a number of times. It had been her recipe book, filled to bursting with family recipes, her own creations, and traditional dishes, most of which he hadn't tasted since before the war. The one he had chosen, for its simplicity, was something his mum had made for them every birthday, just like her mother had with her family. Scovarda, a soft pastry that she had always filled with fresh jam. Classic Romanian dessert, but he hadn't found a recipe quite like his mother's in all of the years he had been looking.

He checked the recipe, checked it again, and then checked what he had already done. Right, okay, just to fry, and it was basically done. Putting his pan on the stove top, he was about to turn it on when he realised that the creaking pipes hadn't stopped. And another noise had joined it. Catching himself before he hit the ignition, he pushed everything away from the bench edge and walked out of the kitchen, tracking the sound of water falling to the edge of the lounge. He looked up, just in time to be hit in the middle of the forehead by a large drop of water. _What..?_ A slowly growing dark patch was forming on his ceiling. _What the hell?_ Bucky pulled one of the chairs over, and stood on it, reaching up, and lightly touching the roof. It was wet. He pulled his hand down, sniffed. Water. Regular water, which was soaking through his ceiling. Damn it!

Climbing off the chair, he shoved it in the general direction of where it came from, went to the kitchen, made sure everything was off, put a hand towel over the batter bowl, and grumbled his way out of the apartment. He hadn't had any trouble with the guy above him, Captain Steve Rogers, since their last encounter, which had left James somewhat in the dark about whether he'd be staying in the building much longer. Turns out the great Captain America hadn't been informed that he was a good guy. Considering Bucky, as the Winter Soldier, had nearly killed the other man, more than once, that encounter hadn't gone too well. Natasha must have spoken to him though, as weeks had passed without any confrontation. James sighed. Hopefully this wouldn't tip the tentatively balanced scales.

He knocked on the door lightly. No response. Knocked harder. Still no response. He sighed, glanced around. No one around. He tried the door handle, not expecting anyt- it opened with a twist. He frowned, preparing for the worst. Slipping into the apartment carefully, he drew the knife he always had on him, walking silently through the apartment that was so similar to his, and yet so different. The layout was essentially the same, and so he checked each room as he came upon it, closing the door behind him as he left each one. Nothing unusual, beyond the unlocked door and the constant running water. He approached the door leading to the bathroom, keeping his knife concealed by his thigh, the matte black blade blending in with his dark jeans. He knocked lightly on the door, heard a faint splash, and a mumble. He knocked loudly, and there was a yelp, and a loud thunk, followed by louder swearing, and the tap shutting off. More splashing, and shuffling footsteps towards the door. Bucky quickly slipped the knife back in its sheath, his arm dropping to his side as the bathroom door opened to show a still dripping Steve, a towel barely holding around his waist, confusion on his face.

"What are you …?" He cut himself off with a yawn, before continuing, hand dropping to catch the towel as began to slip, "…doing in here?"

"Your door was unlocked, and my roof was dripping. Quite literally dripping." James forced himself to keep his eyes up, focusing on the other man's face. He looked tired, dark rings around his eyes, and … was that blood? He reached out, pulling the blonde's head over and tilting it so he could see. Yep, blood. Not just from the cut on his head, either. A quick glance showed that the other man was battered, bruised, and bleeding. Stitches on his chest looked like they had opened, and a cut on his arm was starting to bleed now that it was out of the water. Concern in his voice, he stepped back, pointed at the nearest chair, and said, "Sit. Where's your first aid kit?" He didn't wait for an answer, walking into the bathroom, into a pool of water, noting the slowly draining bathtub with blood smudged on the edge, and a smear of blood on the tap. The thunk must have been him hitting his head. No wonder he had been swearing, to get a man like that to bleed it would have had to be a fairly strong impact. Muttering under his breath, James went to the vanity, checking the cupboards underneath for a first aid kit. There was one sitting at the front, and he grabbed it, snagging a small towel as well, heading back out to find Steve sitting where he had been told, yawning again.

"Put this against your head and show me your arm." The man in front of him was a blur of activity, pressing the towel against Steve's head and forcing his uninjured arm up to hold it, before checking the cut on his other arm. Steve hadn't even realised he was still bleeding there. The sting of antiseptic, then the touch of butterfly stitches along the length of it, then the press of the adhesive dressing, and he was done, quick, and competent. He shifted where he was crouched, and Steve didn't realise where he was heading until it was too late to stop him. His neighbour had pushed his knees apart and wedged himself between them, leaning forward to check the stitches on Steve's chest. Steve tried to shift backwards, the hand not at his head holding the towel in place as he moved, cheeks reddening.

"Stop squirming and let me look at this." Steve stopped instantly as the man, James, poked his chest with a finger. After a moment, he sat back on his heels, rummaging through the first aid kit until he found a needle. "I can field stitch it closed, but you'll need to have a proper medic have a look at is as soon as possible." Steve didn't respond, trying to not think about anything at all, eyes on the wall behind James' head. "Captain? Rogers? Steve." His eyes flickered back to the speaker, as he realised a response was required.

"Yes." Was that the right answer? Did that even work with the question? James shook his head but leaned forward again, so it must have been good enough. He twitched a little at the first prick of the needle, but was otherwise still, too caught up in his own mind to notice it. Had Steve been anyone else, had James been anyone else, he wouldn't think twice, would probably pull him closer, take advantage of the fact that he was tired, not thinking straight, and lonely, use it as an excuse to sleep with the attractive man in front of him. But the problem was that James was the Winter Soldier, and Steve was Captain America. James had killed more good men than Steve could count, had even tried to kill him more than once.

_"He wasn't himself, Steve. He was being controlled by Hydra, having is mind tampered with like he was a children's toy. He's a good man. Give him a chance to prove that to you."_

Nat's words pushed themselves to the forefront, and Steve frowned. He had agreed to give the other man a chance, but this was too far. Maybe at some point, but not now. He'd get to know him first, see if he really was the man Nat claimed he was. He'd play it cool, maybe do some diggi-

"Do you want to have coffee sometime?" Jesusfuck. He hadn't meant to say that. His eyes flickered to James as his hands froze, shock flickering over his face. Shock, but not disgust, not fear, nothing to indicate he wasn't actually considering it.

"I thought you hated me." The hands started moving again, finishing the stitching and covering the wound with the same adhesive dressing that was on his arm.

"A scary Russian superspy paid me a visit."

"Oh god. What did she say?"

"Just that you were who I thought you were, but that wasn't you." That hadn't really made sense, but James seemed to understand what he meant as he sat back, stood, and moved around the back of the seat to check Steve's head. He pulled the makeshift bandage away and raked his fingers through Steve's hair gently, checking for any other injury.

"It's stopped bleeding, and there's nothing more than a lump and a cut. You're going to have to rewash your hair though, there's blood everywhere."

Steve barely managed to keep the invitation to join him from escaping, mentally cursing his terrible timing. He always managed to become attracted to the wrong people. Or, the right people at the wrong time. The last had been his superior at the training camp. She had been gorgeous, strong, and she had taken no shit from any of the males who didn't think she deserved her rank. Now this ex-Russian assassin, ex-Hydra weapon, and current SHIELD agent, who he wasn't sure he trusted, and seemed too good to be true. Clenching his jaw, he nodded, not bringing up the fact that his question hadn't been answered. The man behind him stepped back, and started throwing bits and pieces back in the first aid kit, scrunching up the rubbish in the other hand. He quickly put it back in the bathroom, and Steve heard the thump of towel hitting floor, and guessed the other man had put down something to start collecting the water that was everywhere. He appeared after a moment, standing in the doorway looking a little awkward.

"Um, I should probably leave you to get dressed. Just make sure you get the stitches redone by a medic." He made eye contact and briefly looked away as Steve stood slowly, making sure the towel was going to stay in place before walking over.

"Thanks for the first aid, and I'm sorry about your ceiling. I fell asleep before the tub was full and so yeah, I can pay for that."

"You're welcome. And I can get SHIELD to fork out for that, they placed me in the damned building in the first place, so don't worry about it."

James shifted, and Steve moved out of the way, walking with him to the front door. Opening the door, James stepped out, then glanced back at him, a small smile flickering across his face.

"Tomorrow at three, coffee at mine. Don't be late."


	8. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fire alarm goes off in the early hours of the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is where it starts to get a little angsty. Not quite sure what happened, but angst isn't the main theme in this fic, so it should be limited to a single chapter.

Bucky jerked awake as alarms began to scream. He immediately had the gun under his pillow in one hand, the knife from his drawer in the other. He scanned the room as his mind cleared, finding nothing, and realising that the alarm wasn't a Hydra one, or his phone, or his security alarm, it was the building-wide fire alarm.

"Shit!" He rolled out of bed, grabbing a blanket and tying it around his waist, running to the window. He peered out, seeing people coming down the fire escape outside. Clicking the safety on, he tucked the gun into the blanket at his back, and climbed out on to the cold metal grate. He had a front apartment, and could see the carpark outside filling up with residents. From his spot on the fire escape, he counted them off, thankful he had kept tabs of how many people were in the building. All except Nat and Clint, who were on a mission, and the people on the fire escape still, who made up the remainder. Good.

Heading down himself, he shifted his left arm away from the bare skin of his side, keeping the knife, blade up, pressed to his forearm, where hopefully no one would notice it. He came off the fire exit last, the ladder popping up behind him, and he realised his keys were in the pocket of his jeans, along with his phone. On the floor of his room. Shit.

James looked around at the gathered group. None seemed to have a clue why the alarm had triggered, but the landlord was on the phone, talking intently, wrapped in his bathrobe. Everyone was in various states of undress, given that it was five in the morning. Some were fully dressed, most were in sleepwear, shivering a little. It was still dark, and it was late fall, so the air was cold, and the concrete freezing against his bare feet. Someone came up on his right, and he glanced over, smiling at Steve. The man was fully dressed, shield on one arm, gym bag in the other, looking like he hadn't been home long at all.

"Any idea what's going on?" The blond whispered, dropping has bag, and placing the shield beside it.

James shook his head. "Not scheduled, no signs of attack. Someone must have set the fire alarm off, is all." He examined the group again. None looked hurt, all looked confused. No one looked guilty. So not a false alarm then. He did, however, see some curious looks his way, and realised that while most of them knew he lived there, none beyond the SHIELD agents knew exactly who he was. The metal arm glinting in the street light was kind of fixing that. A couple of people shifted away from him, kids whispered and pointed, bringing attention to him. Sighing, he turned so his body was between them and his prosthetic, avoiding touching any of his own skin. It was cold enough that he could feel the metal starting to contract, feel the tugging on the muscles of his shoulder, and gritted his teeth as the pain started.

Steve noticed the looks, noticed his companion shift to avoid them, and moved with him, putting himself between Bucky and the other residents. That's when he realised Bucky's state of undress, and he was damned glad that it wasn't daylight as he flushed. The man was in a blanket, that barely came down to his knees. That was it. Turnabout was fair, given that he had stitched Steve's chest while he had been in nothing but a towel. He didn't look at the man though, not wanting to turn even redder, if that was even possible. The combat gear that was his usual attire did him no justice, the rest of him matched his face - abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous.

That when he heard the faintest noise of pain from him, and he looked over. Bucky was standing rigidly, jaw clenched, metal arm held apart from his body. All of the muscles in his shoulders and neck were taut, and that's When Steve realised something important about metal. It contracted in the cold. He crouched, rummaged through his bag, shoving things out of the way until he found the spare set of clothes he always had in there. Pulling them out, he handed James the shirt, a tee, but more than he was currently wearing. "Put this on while I find the trackpants." It was testament to how much pain he was in that James didn't protest, didn't even say a word as he pulled the top on, and took the pants as they were offered to him, pulling them on under the blanket. A quick moment to move the gun at his back to the waistband, and the knife that he had dropped back to his hand, and he shrugged the blanket up, tugging it around his shoulders, and wrapping part of it around his metal arm, hiding it from sight.

"Thank you" he mumbled, the pain evident in his voice as his right hand came up, massaging his left shoulder. Steve straightened, pushed the hand away, and took over, knowing he could reach better. Resting one hand against Bucky's back, he ran the other over his shoulder, softly at first, than more solidly as he worked out where the most problematic areas were. Bucky stiffened at first, then relaxed into the touch, sighing softly. Now they were both getting strange looks. Steve barely noticed as the firemen arrived, and entered the building, rather on Bucky's voice as he mumbled.

"Hydra techs didn't exactly have much care for the pain of their … subjects. _'Oh what's the most painful thing we can make into a prosthetic? He's going to be the Winter Soldier, let's give him metal!'_ Fucking bullshit is what that is. Didn't even care the first time I ripped something, just isolated me as I healed, then froze me again." He rolled his shoulder under Steve's hands, and leaned into the touch, the screaming of his muscles easing with the combination of heat and pressure. He stared at the people bustling around, seeing one of the firefighters talking to the landlord, gesturing at the basement. He stopped paying attention as Steve hit something particularly tight, flinching slightly.

"Sorry, and I'm sorry for what they did to you Buck. They were the foulest of people. I … I assume they were the first to go?"

"Revenge is not the my motivation, Steve."

"That's not what I-"

"I know. I just wanted you to know that. But yes, they were the first. It wasn't just me, either. They had facilities dedicated to turning enemy soldiers into puppets, into living weapons. I was just the first, I- God, I trained them. Trained them to hunt, to _kill_. Turned them into what I was, what I am. There is so much blood on my hands, Steve. They drip with the blood of the innocent. I can't bring them back, can't even _start_ to try to fix what I've broken." He shuddered, looking down at his hands. His voice cracked as he spoke again, his right hand clenching until his fingernails cut into his palm. "That's … that's my motivation. There is so much I can't do, but bringing Hydra down, taking out those who ordered the kills, sanctioned the murders, those who pointed the finger and took the money, that I _can_ do. And maybe, _just maybe_ , I can start to redeem myself."

"It wasn't your fault Buck. They used you, brainwashed you, took your memories, replaced them with lies."

"I remember it now. I remember all of it, all of the pain, the experiments, the torture, the killing. I remember the lies they told me, the things they did to keep me controlled, to stop me from rebelling. They held the lives of the other assets over my head, tortured them in front of me, until they were so far into my head that I didn't feel anything anymore. I tried to kill _you_ Steve. Three times I came out with your murder in the front of my mind. God, I … I don't know how you can stand to be _near_ me, let alone touch me." Tighter his hand went, deeper the cuts became. Blood welled, running between his fingers and dripping to the cold concrete. He opened his mouth, closed it again, clenched his jaw until it ached.

Bucky pulled away from Steve's hands. God, he didn't deserve the kindness being given to him. He took a few steps on feet numb from the cold, not looking at the man behind him. "I'm sorry, Steve. Sorry for everything. Trying to kill you, for dumping all of my problems on to you, for taking your kindness when I've done absolutely nothing to deserve it." He gave a bitter laugh, shaking his head at himself. "I'm even wearing your clothes right now. God I am _pathetic_."

He heard steps, felt a strong hand on his shoulder, turning him. He went with it, expecting to feel a fist connecting with his jaw at the very least. What he didn't expect was being roughly pulled towards Steve, strong arms coming around him in the first hug he had had in over eighty years. His arms stayed at his sides, his back rigid in shock before he let out a shuddering breath, slumping against the taller man. Bucky's arms slowly came up, hesitantly coming around him, knife clattering to the ground, and his head dropped onto Steve's shoulder. "I'm sorry" he whispered brokenly, and the arms around him tightened in response. They didn't notice as the firefighters came out, didn't notice as the residents slowly filtered back into the building.

"Shhh. None of this is on you. _None_ of this, you hear me. The Winter Soldier did that. The weapon of Hydra did all of that. Not _you_. You're a good man, James Buchanan Barnes, and I'm going to prove it to you one way or another."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, if you've made it to this point, thank you so much for sticking to it! where this fic is going is a little shaky now, as I started these as oneshots, but if you have any short prompts or anything, feel free to comment or [drop me a message](http://twistedshakespeare.tumblr.com/faq-ask) on tumblr.
> 
> Now that exams are over (as of the 14/11/14), I should be back to fairly regular updates as I have a few more ideas before I run out. Thanks for sticking with me!


	9. Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint goes to bother the new guy about coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm jumping the gun on my beta a little here (sorry babe) but I felt bad for not updating this in ages so here you go ^ ^

Clint knocked on the door, yawning widely. The new guy didn’t know him, didn’t know his habits, and so would be unlikely to refuse to let him “borrow” coffee, like nearly everyone in this building already did. It wasn’t that he was mean, or aggressive, or anything like that. No, it was just because once you agreed once, it became very hard to turn that yes into a no. He knew what no meant, of course he did, but Clint not having coffee was like Clint not having his bow. Useless.

He knocked again after a moment, frowning. He was definitely home, he had seen the guy entering the building. He knew he wasn’t in the shower or anything, because it was silent in the apartment, none of those creaking pipes making noise. Still nothing. He sighed dejectedly, and turned away, ready to walk out and go buy his own, when the door finally cracked open. He turned to I himself, but froze when he recognised the man standing in the doorway.

“Clint Barton. Did Fury send you? I told him-“

“Nononono no nothin’ to do with him I promise. I live upstairs, thought I’d come be friendly, meet the new guy.”

Doctor Bruce Banner sighed at Clint’s words, running a hand through his hair, then stepped back, allowing Clint to enter. He followed the man into the kitchen where Bruce had been cooking. That explained why he hadn’t answered initially.

“Actually, there was another reason I came over.”

“Is this about the coffee?”

Clint prided himself on being able to conceal his motives, emotions, and reactions. But the calm words had him looking sheepish. He must not be as good as he thought. “Uhh, who…?”

“Agent Romanov mentioned something about it when she found out I was moving in.”

“She knew you were coming?”

“If I remember correctly, she was the one who suggested it.”

As Bruce spoke, he went to the cupboards, pulling out a bag before tossing it to Clint. Catching it with a huff, the archer looked at it, confused for a moment. He grinned when he turned it over to read the label, realising it was exactly what he had come for. Better, though, as it was a bag of that really expensive coffee he could never afford. When he looked up, Bruce pointed a finger at him, reminding Clint of a schoolteacher.

“That is the only one you’ll get from me. If you ask again I will not be happy.”

“Thanks Bruce, you’re the best.” Clint was glad Bruce was as down-to-earth as he had heard. The scientist could tear down the building easily if something went wrong, and Clint was mighty glad he hadn’t caused Big Green to join the conversation. That would have been bad, on an already pretty shitty day. Clint then paused, and frowned. “Wait, you said Tasha suggested you move in?”

Bruce nodded as he checked the pots on the oven. “Yes. From what I could tell, she moved in not long after Captain America did. They’ve worked together a few times, and he must have mentioned the building. I thought that was why you moved in?” He shot a questioning look at Clint, who shook his head.

“She never mentioned anything to me. Fury was the one who ‘suggested’ this building after what happened with the last one. He said the landlord would bother me less, meaning I bothered him less.” Setting the coffee on the bench, Clint leaned against it, thoughtful look on his face. He ignored the look he got at the mention of the last apartment building. He wasn’t going into that. “Y’know, there are more of us living here. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents I mean. You and I, Tasha, Cap, then there’s billionaire boy Tony Stark on the top floor, and Barnes across the way.” At the confused look he received, Clint elaborated. “Sergeant James Barnes. Earned himself a bunch of medals after he died, and then pulled a “hey not dead” when he tried to kill Fury and Cap a few months back, as The Winter Soldier. Fury has him on the payroll now apparently He’s a decent guy from what I’ve seen.”

Bruce gave him an incredulous look, that slipped away after a moment. “Fury has taken worse under his wing. So, what’s your gut feeling on this? Are we being set up?”

Clint pondered the question for a moment. Tasha would never risk her home base in any way. Fury, he wouldn’t put it past, but Natasha was like a daughter to him (and Clint was not going to ask how that relationship happened) and he wouldn’t do something that would risk so many of his people. If this was a setup, it wasn’t a bad one. “I don’t think so. There’s something fishy going on, but I don’t think it’s a bad thing. I’ll tell you what, when Tasha gets home in a couple of days, I’ll talk to her about it.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him over his shoulder. “You sure that’s a good idea, Clint?”

Clint grinned. “Not at all, but hey, I’ve never been one for good ideas.”

Bruce just shook his head, then turned to face Clint. “Now, if that’s everything?”

Clint knew when he was being dismissed, but couldn’t help himself. “What, no inv- Bruce… you’re looking a little… green…” He backed away slightly, grabbing the bag of coffee as he passed it.

“Am I?” The scientist just raised an eyebrow.

Clint fled.


	10. Babysitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets a desperate request from a neighbour.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, please stop banging on the door jeez!” Bucky muttered under his breath as he reached the door. The rapping stopped as he worked on undoing the chain, and it didn’t take him long to have the deadbolt undone. Opening the door, he was faced with a very frazzled looking woman.

“Tania? What’s the matter?”

The woman breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m so sorry to do this, James, but there’s been an accident on the freeway, so Dan won’t be home ‘til late, and I have to get to work, do you mind looking after Matt until he gets home?” She looked hesitant. They hadn’t spoken much, just said hello to each other in the hallways, talked on the stairs sometimes, but neighbours were neighbours, and he wasn’t going to leave her high and dry. “I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t urgent but-“

“Hey, don’t worry, it’s fine. Just let me grab my keys.” He cut her off, turning and jogging down the hall to his room. Didn’t take him long to grab his keys and his phone, and he came back down the hall, pulling a jersey over his head. The kid hadn’t seen the arm up close, and it was easier to avoid freaking children out if the prosthetic wasn’t obvious. It also helped protect his somewhat-secret identity as the guy who blew up a hunk of DC. He locked up, then followed Tania down the hall.

“Hey, Matt? You remember James from next door, right? He’s going to keep you company until your dad gets home, okay?” She gave the young boy a hug before running out the door, shouting a thank you his way as she left. The kid looked up at him for a moment, as though deciding whether he liked the older man, before grinning.

“You’re the army guy who lives next door right? Can I see your gun?”

**

It had taken him ten minutes to convince Matt that guns weren’t as cool as he thought, and no he wasn’t going to let him play with one, and now the nine year old was sitting at the table, doodling and talking about the next day’s plans. Turns out it was his birthday the next day, so his mum had swapped her shift to spend the day with him. He had looked excited at the idea of being ten, and was part-way through planning out the day when he got sidetracked.

“Hey Bucky, what’s that on your hand?”

Bucky looked, and didn’t see anything on his right hand, so looked at Matt in confusion, before the kid pointed at his other hand.

“There! Looks like metal!” He reached out, grabbing at his hand before Bucky could protest. He could only watch as his sleeve was pulled back, farther and farther, exposing the dull gleam of the prosthetic to the child’s curious gaze. “Is this a tattoo?” He poked it, and he looked shocked to find it was indeed solid, and not a very good ink job. “Woah, is that real?” He looked excited at the prospect.

“Yeah, it is. I lost my arm in the war, was given this as a replacement.”

“You’re joking!”

“Nope. Dead serious.”

“Cool! Can I see the rest of it?”

“If you want.”

Matt was wriggling on his seat in excitement as Bucky pulled his sleeve back down, then reached over his head and yanked the hoodie off. Dropping the material on the table, he pulled his shirt back into place, then, with his right hand, pushed the left sleeve of his tee up to sit on the top of his shoulder. It exposed the entire arm, but hid the scarred mess that was his shoulder. Matt didn’t seem to care, too busy staring, eyes wide.

“Go for gold, kid.”

“Do you feel through it?” The question was a bit too loud in his excitement, but Bucky didn’t say anything as he felt the press of small hands against the metal.

“A little. Like I can feel that you’re touching me, and I can say exactly where your hand is, but that’s about it. Comes in handy when I have to pull hot things out of the oven.” The laugh he got at that made him smile, and he sat in silence as Matt looked over his am.

There was a sudden intake of breath, and he froze. That’s what he had been waiting for. He didn’t move as he felt fingers trace the large red star on his bicep.

“You’re the Winter Soldier aren’t you?”

Jesus fuck. At least he didn’t sound scared, wasn’t jumping backwards. Just that curiosity again. He took a deep breath.

“I was. I work for the good guys now.”

“They said on the news that you were brainwashed.”

“Yeah.”

“Wait…” The word dragged out, and he looked at Matt. His face had lit up again. “Does that mean you know Captain America?”

He couldn’t help it. He laughed, a full belly laugh that had his eyes watering, head tipping back to rest on the back of the seat as he did. He had forgotten how refreshingly non-judgemental kids were. After a moment, he controlled himself, but was still grinning at the ceiling when he answered.

“Yeah, you could say that. You’re a fan?”

That got Matt talking again, and he babbled on about how he had gotten his first comic from his dad, and how his favourite superhero was Cap. Bucky let him talk on, nodding and prompting with questions here and there. He pulled out his phone as he did, and quickly flicked Steve a message.

      _‘You home?’_

The response was pretty quick, and it made him smile even wider.

      _‘Yeah, why?’_

      _‘Wanna make my neighbours day? :)’_

He tapped out the apartment number and a brief explanation, then looked up at Matt. When the kid paused for breath, he broke in. “Hey, I have a birthday present for you.”

“Yeah?!”

There was a knock at the door, that put a slight dampener on his excitement as he decided it was a delay to his present. He looked at Bucky, who just grinned at him.

“It’s for you.”

Matt jumped up and ran into the hallway. Bucky heard the door open, and then an excited shout.

“OHMYGODIT’SCAPTAINAMERICA!”

**

Matt hadn’t stopped buzzing by the time his father got home. He heard the key in the door and jumped to his feet, running to go tell his dad who was looking after him. Bucky was sprawled on the floor of the living room, hoodie back on, Steve at his feet, and they were bickering light-heartedly over the rules of the game they were playing.

“Steve you gotta wait for your turn to pull a stunt like that, come on.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m beating you again Buck.”

“Hey Matt, tell Cap that he can’t do that yet, back me up on th- oh, hi Dan.” He looked up to see Matt tugging his dad into the room. The man looked at first confused, then astounded as he realised who was sitting on his floor. Bucky nudged Steve with a foot, and the blond got up, introducing himself properly as Dan just gaped at him. When he finally replied in kind, and managed a confused look at Bucky, he sat up, quick to explain.

“Tania asked me to keep an eye on Matt because she had to go to work. When I heard it was Matt’s birthday tomorrow, I felt kinda bad for not having anything for him. Then he mentioned he was a Cap fan, and I just happened to be friends with a certain supersoldier.” Steve glanced over his shoulder, down at him, and waggled an eyebrow. He got a kick in the shin for it, and managed to contain a laugh as Bucky kept a smile plastered on his face. _Little shit_. “So I thought I’d ask him if he wanted to pop over. Do you mind if we finish the round? It’s nearly over, and there’s something in the oven for you, it should still be warm.” Bucky had whipped something up as time had ticked onwards, and he was glad he did, because Dan looked relieved.

He nodded, said: “sure, thanks” weakly, and turned, still looking a little shell-shocked. Bucky didn’t blame him. He had just walked in to see his hero, if Matt was to be believed, sitting on his lounge floor playing cards with his son and neighbour.

The kid just grinned, sitting back down next to Steve so they could finish the hand. Matt won, and looked downright impressed with himself as the three of them filtered into the kitchen.

“You’re a really good cook, James, anyone ever tell you that? Thanks for the meal.” He waved off the compliment, grinning, and started cleaning up the dishes as Steve made conversation with the man, who seemed to have overcome his initial shock. He was glad he had put his hoodie back on. Dan probably would be incredibly uncomfortable if he knew the Winter Soldier was looking after his kid. Better that he enjoy talking to Steve. Matt would probably spill the beans at some point, he hadn’t told him to keep it a secret, but that probably wouldn’t happen until later, given that he was still buzzing about Steve being _right there_.

They left an hour later, after Steve had answered all of the questions, and taken a photo with Matt, and signed something after being all but begged by the kid. As the door closed behind them, Bucky knocked his shoulder into Steve’s.

“Thanks, Steve. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Hey, I like kids. It was no biggie.”

“Even so.” They reached his door, and he unlocked it before turning back to his companion. Before he could chicken out, he leaned up and brushed a soft kiss over Steve’s lips, before smiling. “Night, Steve.” He slipped through his door as the other man stood there, blinking in shock.

He leaned back against the door as he listened for a reaction, anything that would tell him what Steve was thinking. There was silence, then a soft sound, like fingers brushing against the door at his back. Then a quiet voice, sounding almost disappointed. Bucky hoped that was because of his swift exit, rather than his actions.

“Night, Buck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally worked out where this is going, and have set an end point, which may change a little but hey, there's an end in sight!


	11. Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha has been caught, and it's time to find out what she's been up to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is unbeta'd (again sorry babe) bc I just wanted to publish after ages working on something else that I can't publish yet,so any mistakes are entirely my own.

Nat burst into her apartment, gun raised. Clint yelped, hands in the air, and didn’t move until she frowned, lowering her weapon.

     “Clint, what are you doing in here?”

     She holstered her weapon and turned to close the door behind her as he set off into a long winded story about the Russian mafia and a dog she knew was just to wind her up. The smirk on his face confirmed that fact as she glanced over her shoulder at him, quirking an eyebrow. That smirk broadened as the blond ran his hands over his head, messing his hair up further. Nat walked over to him, prodding him in his chest sharply with a finger before dumping her backpack in his arms.

     “We’ll start easy then, Barton. _How’d_ you get in here?”

     She wouldn’t patch the breach, and they both knew it, but she needed to be aware of it, to keep an eye on it. If anyone but Clint tried to use said exploit, it would be fixed immediately. It was how they had always worked. She had her way into his home, he had his way into hers.

     Clint opened his mouth to respond when she covered it with a hand, eyes moving to the doorway to her lounge, where there had been the faintest creak of floorboards. She knew her floorboards. They didn’t do that. Not unless someone was standing on them. Clint pushed her hand away and tried to speak again, but Nat had already gone predatory, gun back out of the thigh holster, safety clicked off. Moving carefully towards the door, Nat avoided all of the creaky areas, making it to the lounge door without a sound. She glanced back to see whether Clint was following her, to see him … texting? Nat froze, glaring at him. Clint must have felt her gaze, because he glanced up, signing rapidly at her as well as he could with one and a half hands.

      _“Stand down! If you shoot Captain America Fury’ll have your ass on a plate!”_

      _“Why is he in my home?!”_

     Nat was furious. He had no right to let people into her home, into her safehouse, without her permission. No right to make calls like that.

     Clint spoke then, face apologetic. “They called an intervention and I drew the short straw. They don’t know how I got in, I let them in through the door.”

     Nat didn’t look at him, opening the door with a growl and slamming it open, making the people sprawled in her lounge jump.

     Bruce looked most guilty, so she glared at him, picking him out of the bunch to grill.

     “Why are you in my home Bruce?”

     He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and didn’t answer, but didn’t flinch away from her gaze, which was something at least. A voice piped up behind her, and she spun, growling under her breath.

     “Your meddling may have gotten me laid Natasha, but enough is enough.”

     James was grinning unrepentantly as Steve whacked him one, the sound of Steve’s hand hitting his leg drowned out by Kate choking on her drink. She coughed, then gave the supersoldiers a droll look as Natasha glared at the three of them in turn.

     “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

     “Bruce spilled the beans Nat, no point in denying it now.” Clint grinned at her from the doorway, happily throwing the scientist under the bus.

     Tony piped up from where he was sprawled, taking up an entire couch by himself. “Who didn’t you have some input into moving here?”

     Nat frowned, then pointed at Steve, realising she had been caught out. She sighed heavily, then tucked the gun still in her hand back into its holster for the second time since she had arrived home.

     Clint finally approached, tugging her into the only empty recliner in the room. He perched on the arm as she sat, palming the beer bottle that had been sitting on the windowsill. 

     “She probably didn’t have anything to do with the thunder God waking up on my couch either. Probably. Why the meddling Nat?”

     She shrugged noncommittally, then sighed as nobody looked away from her, as they just waited for a proper answer. Nat tucked her feet up under her, and met the eyes of each person in the room, one by one. “I’m going to say this once. Then you are going to forget I said it. And if you don’t forget, I’m going to make you forget. Are we clear?”

     Everyone nodded, except Clint, who just grinned smugly, and got hit for his trouble.

     Nat sighed, shaking her head. She wasn’t going to be able to get out of this one. Part of her wanted to just spin some lie like she usually did, concealing herself from these people. Protecting herself like she always had. It would have been easy, so easy, and only two people in the room would have noticed. But these were her friends. And it was a scary thought, but Nat was starting to trust them.

     “James can probably guess why. He’s known me longer than anyone here.” The man in question grinned, blowing her a kiss from where he was leaning against Steve, but there was something haunted in his eyes. He remembered.

     “When I was young, during our training, we were kept in groups. Raised in groups. We ate, slept, and trained together, there was very little of our day, beyond the forced solitude, that we were alone. When we turned sixteen, one by one, we were weeded out of the group, presented to our handler. This handler became the only person we ever spent time with, outside of sparring and the medics.” Nat paused, clenching her teeth. She absolutely hated talking about this, hated talking about her past, but she had already started, couldn’t back down now. She didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, choosing to stare at the empty space on the wall across the room.

     “A year later we were reunited in a bloodbath. We were forced to kill each other, or be killed. Ten of the original forty survived. We were given a rank, sent into the world as agents. One year after that we were pulled back for final training. We knew only one would live. Only one Black Widow can exist at a time, and who better to decide on the recipient of that title but the one who had trained so many before us. Half of the group died in training. Three more died during the testing. One entered the training ring with the Winter Soldier and didn’t come out. Only I made it through. All of the women I had grown up with were dead, every single one of them.” She kept her face impassive, but leaned slightly into Clint’s hand on her shoulder. Her eyes flicked over the faces in front of her. Kate looked slightly sick, and Steve looked angrier than she had ever seen him, but they all stayed silent. Waiting.

     “Long story short, I decided I wanted a family again. And who better than a ragtag group of superheroes who all happened to be on my boss’ payroll?” Nat forced a grin, hiding the fact that she had just made herself vulnerable to these people.

     Clint’s fingers dug into her shoulder briefly, before he stood, drawing everyone’s attention. “Now, who needs a little help forgetting that? There’s beer in the fridge.”

 

**  
     Sure enough, six months on, no one had brought it up again. But there was a sense of camaraderie in the group that hadn’t been there before. Every week they would all cram themselves into someone’s apartment for takeout and movies, evenings that started loud and ended louder. They’d all tease Steve and Bucky about their growing relationship, or act like overprotective parents whenever Kate brought someone home to “meet the family”. And all of those potential partners would be lying if they said the scariest part of that wasn’t the two assassins smiling dangerously the entire time. Bruce and Bucky would frequently meet to cook together, with the rest of “the Avengers” as Clint had dubbed them, acting as guinea pigs to their creations. Tony had to be prevented from installing an AI in the building, twice, and when Thor showed up again he was welcomed immediately.

     Nat was happy, for the first time in a long time. Because, despite all of their faults, family was family, and her family was the best of them all.

**Author's Note:**

> Well hey, I made it through, and if you're reading this, so did you, so thank you!
> 
> This really did start as a bunch of oneshots that kinda evolved into this, so sorry about the surprise plotline.
> 
> As always, comments, questions, prompts etc. are always welcome, both here and at my [tumblr.](http://brickhousebuck.tumblr.com)


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